


You Can Run But You Can't Hide (Your Reflections Only Follow Remix)

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Canon Character of Color, Character Study, Episode Related, Episode: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, Female Character of Color, Gen, Introspection, POV Character of Color, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-15
Updated: 2010-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd both been out of sorts since 1913.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Run But You Can't Hide (Your Reflections Only Follow Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadesfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Man in the Mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/740) by Jadesfire. 



> Thank you to my beta Secondsilk! Dialogue in headings taken from "Human Nature" and "Family of Blood." Also references "Gridlock" and "Blink."

  


_You had to go and fall in love with a human. And it wasn't me._   


The Doctor had said it was time to move on, and so they did.

After they closed the door on 1913 he immediately whisked her off to Ch'Xo, where the binary sun inverted the planet's gravity, so the fuchsia waterfalls cascaded upwards, from underground rivers towards the domed white sky. Martha and the Doctor stood beneath the falls in their gravity boots, letting the sparkling water soak them to the skin. The Doctor grabbed her hand, and they bent down together to release the buckles on their boots in unison. He laughed with infectious delight as they shot through the water towards the sky like a reverse bungee.

They tumbled at the last minute to land on their feet and Martha couldn't help but laugh too. With the sight of that familiar manic grin back on his face, it was almost as if the events of 1913 had never happened.

Almost.

 

* * *

 

  


_You're this Doctor's companion! Can't you help? What exactly do you do for him? Why does he need you?_

_Because he's lonely._

 

But there was moving on, and then there was moving on, and she'd already been with the Doctor long enough to know that 'moving on' held just one meaning for him.

That became clear to Martha on their first moon landing, immediately after they left Ch'Xo. On July 20, 1969, they stood just outside the TARDIS door in its protective air bubble, on the ridge overlooking the Sea of Tranquillity, and waited for Neil Armstrong to step outside the lunar module.

"Now Armstrong had meant to say 'That's one small step for _a_ man,' but..."

Martha blinked at the sudden change in the Doctor's tone. Before she could make a comment, however, Armstrong took that first step, and in the excitement her reply slipped away. Afterwards she'd tried to convince herself that she'd only imagined what she'd heard.

Except that tone popped up again and again. It was never for long, just a sentence or two, but it was enough to recognize. She wondered if he realized who he sounded like in those moments, but he always kept his own counsel. So she said nothing about it either--as much as it stung to hear John Smith's voice fall from the Doctor's lips.

Another half-dozen planet stops later they were on Grell, and the Doctor was trying to explain to her how the fifth gender worked.

"And I suppose one might compare them to amoebas in that way. Most extraordinary."

Martha stifled a sigh. The Doctor peered at her, puzzled.

"What?"

"One? One might compare them?" She pasted on a smile, shrugged and turned so he couldn't see the sadness that threatened to spill over. "Doesn't quite sound like you, that's all."

"No, it doesn't, does it?"

Of course he knew. Maybe he always had.

A few hours later they stumbled back into the TARDIS, covered head-to-toe in greenish mud that looked (and felt) a little too much like mucus. Martha swatted his arm when they landed in a heap on the grating.

"This is disgusting!" she said, wiping goo off her face. "What were you thinking when you--?"

"How was I supposed to know the fifth gender was going to--"

"You're the supposed expert!" She untangled herself from the Doctor and grimaced at her ruined clothes. "These were my favourite pair of jeans!"

"Yeah, well, just look at my trainers! I loved these trainers."

Serves him right, she thought. Martha stormed off towards her room to burn her clothes and have a very long, very hot shower. When she returned, almost an hour later, the TARDIS control room was still empty. She sat back in the jump seat with an alien anatomy text (the Doctor's library was truly impressive) and waited.

Another half hour passed before the Doctor joined her by the console. He wore a fresh suit and a new tie (and new trainers), but he appeared unsettled, as if he'd seen--well, as if he'd seen a ghost.

She closed her textbook and set it aside. "So, where are we going next?" Martha asked.

The Doctor recovered his composure, smirked and bounced over to the screen. "How about--Tr'dan in the Nr'tal cluster? Has some of the finest icebergs in the galaxy."

She perked up at the excitement bubbling under his voice. "Sounds good."

"Oh, it is. Positively majestic. When the sun hits them at just the right angle they gleam like obsidian. But it will be cold. Well, freezing. Well, like Antarctica in summer. How cold does Antarctica get? Minus fifty? Sixty? Maybe colder than that? Well, I guess that would make it like Antarctica in winter then. Doesn't matter. What I'm saying is, you should go find something warm to wear."

"All right." Martha headed towards the wardrobe room. "Back in a tick."

"Very warm!" he called behind her.

"Gotcha."

When she got to the wardrobe room, she stared at the seemingly endless racks that ringed the spiral coral struts. She supposed, after hundreds of years of travelling across time and space, anyone would have amassed a department store's worth of clothes. She rifled through the hangers until she found a fur parka, that dwarfed her small frame when she donned it.

She was rummaging for a pair of mittens when she saw something striped out of the corner of her eye. Martha walked over to it and pulled the object off the rack. It was a scarf, absurdly long--it trailed several feet on the floor when she wrapped it once round her neck. It looked a bit like a faded rainbow, swathes of gold and brown and green and blue and purple in random rows.

She chuckled, wondering who in the universe would have worn a scarf like that. She had to wrap it another four times before it rose off the floor. At least she could wrap it enough to block out any wind; she wound it, layer on layer, until only her eyes peeked out at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

Martha felt the TARDIS touch down and realised she should hurry. She found a pair of fur-lined mittens and headed back to the console room, gripping the railing to brace herself when she felt the familiar lurch of de-materialization. Probably looking for a better spot to land, she thought. "Here we are then," she said when she reached his side, the layers of wool muffling her voice, "all warm and cosy."

The Doctor turned and gazed at her, his grin quickly giving way to a strange, wistful expression. Wordlessly he reached out and began to unwind the scarf from her neck. She stared at him, confused, but he gave her only a crooked half-smile and continued.

"I guess I'm just a chip off the old block," he said finally, after he'd finished and the scarf was gathered in his arms.

_What the hell does that mean?_ Her bemusement grew as he hooked the scarf around his own neck. But by the time she recovered enough to say anything, he'd turned and left the console room, the ends of the scarf trailing behind him.

 

* * *

 

  


_'Cause you've got no idea of what he's like. I've only just met him. It wasn't even that long ago, but he is everything...he's just everything to me and he doesn't even look at me, but I don't care...'cause I love him to bits. (And I hope to God he won't remember me saying this.)_   


 

She closed her eyes against a dull ache in her chest. The Doctor never talked to her. Well, he always talked, ninety miles an hour and good luck getting a word in edgewise. (He probably needed his respiratory bypass just to avoid passing out from all that verbiage.) But whatever truly bothered him, he stubbornly refused to divulge, and she could only guess so far.

Martha stared at the glass column of the TARDIS. "I wish you could tell me what's going on with him," she said, patting the console. The TARDIS only sighed around her, sounding as helpless as Martha felt. "I hear you, old girl," Martha replied, and patted the console again. "I hear you."

She headed back to the wardrobe room, hoping there might be another scarf she could wear. At the door she saw him standing in front of the full-length mirror, staring intently at his reflection. The scarf was still around his neck--and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Worse, he didn't appear to notice. "Doctor?" She approached gingerly. "Are you all right?"

He didn't appear to have heard her, either. The grip of fear clenched in her stomach as she crossed the remaining distance, stood next to him and squeezed his hand. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

He started and blinked at her reflection, still remaining silent. Finally she reached up and touched one of the wet tracks on his face.

"I'm fine," he said finally, and ducked his head. He unwrapped the scarf and dug his fingers into the wool. "I'm fine."

Martha nodded. "Right. I mean, I sometimes want to cry when I look in the mirror, but that's usually only first thing in the morning."

He forced a laugh but still didn't meet her eyes; instead he clutched the scarf to his chest and studied the knitted stitches for a long minute, as if they might hold the answer to the universe. He then wiped his face with it, turned and grinned down at her, albeit with effort.

"So, what about a beach next? I mean, not a Blackpool type of beach, although if you've never ridden a donkey, that's the place to do it. No, I was thinking, there's this great beach on Ytipa Krantell that's got blue sand for miles, like you've never seen."

And there he went again, shutting her out again with endless nothings about sand and suns and green sea. She stepped back with a sudden lump in her throat as he checked himself one more time in the mirror. He then draped the scarf over the frame, tugging the cloth around to cover the wood. He brushed her shoulder on the way out, though he didn't meet her eyes.

Alone in the wardrobe room, she reached out and lay her palm on the scratchy wool. Whatever this scarf was, it was part of him, a solid, tangible reminder. And the something else that was a part of him--whatever it was that could be reflected only in a mirror--or a voice--was a truth he didn't want to admit.

* * *

  


_I meant to say back there, last night--I would have said anything to get you to change._

_Oh yeah, of course you would. Yeah._

_I mean, I wasn't really--_

_Oh, no, no._

_Good._

_Fine._

_So here we are then._

_There we are, yes._

 

She stared at her own reflection, feeling the sudden, unwelcome sting of tears. Looks like it's my turn to cry in front of the mirror now, she thought with a short, broken laugh. Blinking hard, she stared up at the ceiling of the TARDIS, gripping the ancient wool tight in her fist.

_So here we are, then._ One tear slid down her cheek, then another. All those months looking after him, in 1913 no less, and they were no closer than before. Oh he liked her, he trusted her enough to watch his back--and that was all. Just a hug and a thank you, and running ever since, keeping her at bay.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to give up on the Doctor yet, but it was clear now, he would never love her the way she did him. He might never even be capable of it. Though he did need her, if only because God knew the Doctor was rubbish on his own. Was that enough though, just to be needed? Would that be enough for her to keep going like this--?

The TARDIS shuddered on landing, startling Martha out of her reverie. She swiped at her eyes and hurried back to the control room, where the Doctor was frowning at the hand brake.

She peeked at the screen, shocked to see what appeared to be an endless expanse of emerald water. "We're not going to see the icebergs then?"

He looked up with a forced grin and turned towards her. "Nah, icebergs are boring! Can find 'em on any planet. Well, almost any planet. Now, this beach on the other hand, absolutely the best in the galaxy, because, did you know the ocean tailors itself to the beach goer? Perfect temperature, warm or cold, all you need to do is dip your foot in and it adjusts--"

She couldn't take this charade any longer. She took a deep breath and plunged. "No."

He blinked. "What?"

She removed her parka, threw it over a strut, then sat in the jump seat and folded her arms. "You heard me. We're not going anywhere until we discuss what's been going on here."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Nothing's been going on. Absolutely nothing. Martha, we're on the beach at Ytipa Krantell! Suns, surf--"

She glared at him. "Why were you crying?"

He went stock-still for a moment, and his face darkened. "Now don't--"

She matched his stern tone. "And don't you 'don't' me, Mister. You owe me an answer. We're not leaving until I hear it."

The Doctor looked away, pursing his lips tight in stubborn refusal. Martha rolled her eyes. All right, then. Back on New Earth, she'd made him talk about Gallifrey. She had to make him confront this too. He needed--no, she needed to move on from 1913. They both did. So she leapt from the seat and approached until she stood directly in front of him.

"Can I hazard a guess then? It's about John Smith. Has to be. We both know you've been channelling him ever since we left 1913."

The Doctor winced and frowned at the floor grating. There it is, Martha thought. "You can run as far as you like," she continued in a gentler tone, "but you can't run away from who you were back there. From who he was, what he had. It's part of you. You don't want to face it 'cos it hurts and believe me, I know how that feels. You can deny it all day but it will never, ever go away. All you can do is accept it. Make peace with it."

He looked up at that, his face carefully blank. "What makes you think I haven't?"

She pointed toward the wardrobe room. "Because your scarf, whatever it means to you, is hooked round that mirror, and you wouldn't need it there if you've made your peace already. Am I right?"

The Doctor swallowed and shied away. Martha waited, willing him to answer; even the background hum of the TARDIS seemed hushed.

He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear it. "Yeah." He stared at the time rotor. "Yeah."

Martha nodded. "So you need to face this, Doctor. Head on."

In profile he looked as vulnerable as she'd ever seen him, and she did not miss the tiny quaver in his voice. "I can't go back there again. I won't."

"I never said we should." She laid a hand on his arm. "But I think I know where to go."

* * *

  


_Time we moved on._   


Eighty-one years later it was the same November rain.

They stood off to the side of the cenotaph, at the edge of the green, where Martha pinned a poppy onto the lapel of the Doctor's coat. He gave her a small smile of thanks, then they turned towards the ceremony where Timothy Latimer sat bundled under a red blanket, front and centre in his wheelchair, one of only a few remaining veterans of the First World War. The Doctor stood solemn beside her, hands in his coat pockets as he looked on.

For them it had been only two weeks since they'd seen Tim last. In that time that slender, blond-haired, wonderful boy had aged almost beyond recognition. He's over ninety now, Martha thought with a twinge of sadness; this would be his last Remembrance Sunday. Martha looked over to see Tim watching them, his face cracked into a smile. Even from this distance, she could tell Tim's eyes were still the same. And Tim held that old fob watch secure in his gloved hand.

Martha bowed her head, half-listening to the vicar's words. Perhaps the Doctor could finally lay 1913 to rest now, she thought. Perhaps she could lay her burden of knowledge to rest too, and change her expectations to fit. At that she smiled to herself. That was going to be a lot harder to move on from, as long as she chose to remain with the Doctor. But she would. Course she would. Here was the start.

The rain let up, the service ended; Tim, the veterans and the colour guard left, and the green was empty again. Then Martha felt a hand take her own. She looked up to meet his gaze; the Doctor's sober expression hadn't changed, but she thought she saw something more settled in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, and squeezed.

"You're welcome," Martha said.

One corner of his mouth turned up. "Off we go, then?"

"Off we go."

Hand in hand they turned around and headed towards the TARDIS, not looking back. And later, when Martha went to the wardrobe room again, the scarf was no longer draped around the mirror.


End file.
